


The Better Demons of Our Nature

by Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, Spuffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne/pseuds/Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne
Summary: In the weeks and months following her resurrection, Buffy feels life is happening as if behind a glass wall, clearly seen but not felt. Only in the thrill of the chase, the pleasure of slaying, can she feel the world. Worse, of all the people in her life, Spike is the only one that she finds she be honest with, who understands her, that she can even come close to being normal around, and as time passes, her sense of connection with him swiftly grows and into attraction. Afraid of what this means, afraid that Dracula might have been right about the darkness within a Slayer all along, she asks Giles to investigate once again the nature and origins of Slayers, but before he can give an answer, a series of disastrous events conspire to push her ever closer to the vampire she once loathed.A complete rewrite of season 6, starting with the events of After Life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All parts of Buffy the Vampire Slayer not part of the show at the beginning of season 6, such as short stories, comics, and so forth will not be regarded as source material and should be ignored by the reader completely. Try to be a little patient with the beginning, too; it will read initially mostly as a novelisation of the show, while minor changes slowly magnify over time and morph it into a different story. 
> 
> This story arose out of a desire to explore the universe of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in more depth and structure than Whedon did, to answer questions about the function and nature of magic and of demons, and of the supernatural underground the world over. Essentially, to add form and detail to what was otherwise left vague. Though the comics have attempted to add to the richness on the Buffyverse, I find many of the answers they give unsatisfactory, and so here formed my own vision. 
> 
> It's also the first story I have attempted to write while already having a complete overall plan in place, even if in many places it remains ambiguous or unclear detail-wise, so hopefully I'll be able to carry it beyond the inciting incidences.

 

**Part One**

 

A noise downstairs, the slamming of a door, prompted an onrush of adrenaline fire through Buffy's body. She jolted.

"Dawn? Dawn! Are you there?" shouted a familiar voice.

"Up here! I'm fine!" Dawn shouted back.

Buffy gave a confused look, unsure of what what going on. She knew that voice, but...

"It's okay Buffy. It's just Spike." Spike. _Spike._ Somehow that name felt right in her mind, strangely clear in her haze. Dawn walked out of the bedroom, and Buffy followed her, tentatively.

"God, bit. I could kill you, you know," Spike yelled, his voice full of parental rage. "I could kill you right now. Twist your head off and drink out your brainstem. I-"

"Spike?" Dawn said quietly. She descended the stairs slowly, and Buffy followed her some moments later. There, at the door, was Spike, in all his angular-faced cool blue-eyedness, looking peeved. Seeing him now, she thought him strangely... bright? Colourful, maybe? Words didn't want to form.  

"What?" Spike snapped.

Dawn looked back up the stairs at Buffy. "Look."

"Yeh, bit, I've seen the Bot. She fixed up nicer than I expec-" he froze mid-sentence when he looked at her. He could hear her heartbeat, just as Buffy heard Dawn's. He stared, transfixed, as she made her way down the rest of the steps.  

After a long, strange moment, Dawn broke the silence. "She been through a lot, with the, well, death. But I think she's okay."

Buffy didn't feel okay. She felt almost nothing. What little feeling she had was pain, and confusion. Spike clearly saw through Dawn's reassurance down to that pain, that turmoil. Buffy felt suddenly self-conscious for it, but, relived a little too.

"Spike? Are you okay?" asked Dawn.

"Wh... What did you do?"

"Nothing! I swear!"

Spike took a long time to reply. "Her hands..."  

"I know. I was going to fix them. I don't know what happened," Dawn said. Buffy tucked her hands into her back pockets.

"I do," Spike said quietly. "Clawed your way out of a coffin, ain't that right?"

Buffy nodded gently. She hunched back a bit, recoiling slightly at the memory. "Yeah. That- that's what I had to do."

"Done it myself, more'n once." Spike was silent for another long moment, then broke his stare. "C'mon," he said, offering his arm. "We'll take care of you. Go on, bit, get some stuff. Alcohol, bandages, the like."

Buffy took his arm as Dawn went off to get supplies. He brought her over to the living room and sat down with her on the couch, then took her hands, examining her wounds and stroking them gingerly with his cold hands. Cold hands, strong hands, supple and smooth. It occurred to Buffy somewhere in the back of her mind that this wasn't quite right, but Spike's touch was soothing, so she didn't push him off. "How long has it been? Since I..."

"145 days," Spike said, his voice pained. 146 today, but I guess this doesn't count. How long was it for you? Wherever you were?"

"Longer. Maybe. I... I can't remember." That was mostly true. She didn't remember exactly where she'd been, or how long, but she had this overwhelming sense of peace, as if she'd finally fallen asleep after being awake for a long time. "You.., you stayed. You stayed here. Why?"

"Because I made a promise."

"And you kept it."

"I meant it." Buffy didn't know exactly what to think of that. He loved her, she knew. She hadn't expected him to stay, though. She hadn't expected him to keep his word once she was gone. Why would he?

Dawn came back with medical supplies before Buffy could ask any more questions. She and Spike set to work in silence, wrapping Buffy's hands. When they were finished, Dawn looked at her with what seemed like inappropriate optimism, even joy. Spike didn't though. HIs gaze happiness, but was full of concern. There was sorrow there too, Buffy could tell. She could feel it, all through her, and all around; there was something wrong here, with her, with the world. Spike saw it.

"Is there anything else?" Dawn asked. "Can we get you anything? Food, maybe?"

Buffy thought about that for a moment. Her stomach was rumbling, responding to her exhaustion, but the effort of eating might well have sent her catatonic. "I... I think I just want to sleep," she decided. "Is my room still..."

"Yeah. I think we have some clean sheets, let me check..." Dawn bounced up the stairs to search for sheets, but before Buffy could follow or even get up off the couch the door burst open revealing Xander, Anya, Willow, and Tara. The moment they saw her they all started speaking rapid-fire.   

"Buffy! You're alive!"

"Thank god!"

"You're not a zombie, right?"

"Anya!"

"Are are you alright?"

"You ran away! We were so worried!"

"Are you in pain?"

"What do you remember? Do you know what happened?"

"Do you know where you were?"

Buffy couldn't even keep track of who was saying what until Spike's voice cut through the noise. "Oi! Back off, you lot! You did this. All of you, what did you do!?"

"We- we did a spell," said Willow. "We didn't think it worked."

"Buffy, are you going to be okay?" Xander asked.

She didn't actually know. She certainly didn't feel okay. "I think so," she said. She didn't want to hurt them. There was so much hope, so much desperation in their eyes. What was she supposed to say? "I remember. I was dead. You brought me back."

"What happened to her hands?" Anya asked.

"You did," said Spike, his tone pure acid, "when you _didn't un-bury her_." He made for the door and slammed it on the way out while the four co-conspirators exchanged looks of horror and shame.

"Well, d- do you need anything?" Tara asked after a long silence.

"Food! Maybe you need food. There's pizza in the fridge," said Xander.

"She doesn't need pizza, Xander!" Willow chastised. "Spike's right, maybe we should wait for Buffy to tell us what she wants."

She had to gather herself for a moment before she could say anything. "I- I think I just wanna sleep." Buffy had been ready to sleep before this barrage of attention, and now she was beginning to feel like she could keel over if she stood up.

"That's a- a good idea," said Tara. "You should rest."

"Yeah. Jet lag from hell must be, well, jet lag from hell," Anya said. Was that where they thought she'd been? They thought she'd been in hell?

Dawn chose that moment to come back down the stairs. "I changed your sheets. Your bed's rea- what are you all doing here?"

"We brought her back," said Willow with a touch of cautious pride. "She was in hell, and we got her out."

Out of hell. Hell. No, she wasn't out. But she had to get out of this tangle. Without a word, Buffy made or the stairs. As she laid herself onto bed, she could hear several voices yelling from downstairs, though none of the words filtered through to her.

Before she knew it, exhaustion had claimed her, and the world drifted away.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Spike's knees almost gave out from under him after he walked out the door, but he managed to slump up against a tree after stumbling slowly across the microscopic suburban yard, breathing heavily. He had no need to breathe, it just felt like something that he should be doing. If he'd needed to breathe, he probably would have felt like he was suffocating.

Buffy was back.  _Buffy was back._ No matter how many times he'd imagined saving her, no matter how many times everything had gone differently in his mind, he'd never once considered that Buffy might come back. He'd come to terms, or at least he'd come close to terms, with Buffy's death. He hadn't known whether he'd take care of the bit forever, but he'd intended to. He'd begun to understand his life, and his role. Now that was all shot, because fucking hell,  _Buffy was alive!_

Spike, as a rule, didn't mourn people. Vampires in general didn't spend much time on it, but Spike had made a point of not caring about anyone, except for Dru, perhaps. He'd not mourned the passing, into either death or dust, of anyone but his mother since 1880 until Buffy had fallen off that walkway. He hadn't fed for week after that. He hadn't even left his crypt. Quite a few times, he'd considered simply walking out into the daylight, letting all his pain burn away. He never had, though, whether because of some sense of duty towards the bit, or more likely cowardice, he didn't know. Maybe both. 

And now she was here, and her heart was beating, her blood was pumping, and her mouth was talking. But clearly that's not what she wanted. Spike knew shock quite well, having been the source of more of it than he could remember. Buffy was in shock, clearly, yes, but she was in pain, too. She'd looked like living was painful. Spike was joyous at her return. Hell, he was elated that she was back in the world. Seeing her there on the stairs, it was as if he'd come back to Wonderland and his world was back in colour again, yet it tore him up inside that she hurt. Nothing was worse than seeing her in pain, even if his soullessness prevented him from feeling her pain as people might. 

There was yelling from inside the house. His vampire hearing wasn't quite enough to tell him what it was about, but it didn't take a genius. At the very least, he didn't hear Buffy's voice, so hopefully she was left out of it. The yelling went on for a few minutes, mostly between, if he was hearing right, Dawn and Willow. Eventually it stopped, and Spike stopped paying attention. Some minutes later, the door opened, and out walked Captain Handyman and the demon Bird. 

"I don't think Willow's got it right. Buffy doesn't look normal, or okay," she said as the two descended the stairs. Score for her on that one. 

"She just got back," said Xander. "Give it a little time, she'll be fine."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause it just takes a few days to get over eternal torment." 

"Maybe. Willow's calling Giles, right? He'll be able to sort this out. Wait. Who's that?" Xander stopped walking. 

 _Shit,_ thought Spike.  _Caught._

"Spike?" said Xander, walking over to him. "What are you doing still out here? Your not gonna start your little obsession up again are you?"

Obsession?  _Obsession?_ Pure rage flooded into Spike, and he grabbed Xander by the front of his jacket then swung him into the tree. The Bird made a sound of protest, but Spike paid her no mind. "You didn't tell me! You brought her back, and you didn't tell me!"

"Yeah, well, hey, now you know," the idiot bleated. 

"I worked beside you all summer!" 

"We didn't tell you 'cause... look, we didn't, okay?"

Spike was quiet for a moment, then let Xander go without backing away from him. "Look, I've figured it out. Maybe you haven't, but I have. Willow knew that there was a chance that the plan might fail, the spell might go wrong. So wrong that you'd have... that you'd would have to get rid of what came back. And I wouldn't let you. If any part of that was Buffy, I wouldn't let you. And that's why she shut me out." If they had told Dawn, it would have been a greater betrayal, but even so, it hurt him to his core that he'd been so excluded.  

"What? What do you mean? Willow would never do that!" Xander protested. 

Spike snorted as loudly as he could. "Wouldn't she, now?"

"Look. You're just covering. Don't tell me you're not happy. You can't expect me to believe that that wasn't the happiest moment of your entire existence." 

Spike couldn't deny it. He'd been enraptured, at least for a moment, to see her standing there alive, but that had soured somewhat once he'd seen the state she was in. Xander didn't get it, though. His own happiness wasn't the issue. Xander probably wouldn't get it for a long time. People never seemed to. "Magic has consequences. Always!" he shouted, turning around. He hopped on his motorcycle, revved it loudly, and drove off, not looking back once. 

 

\-----

 

Spike's crypt had never felt cold before. Everything was cool, lifeless, still, exactly how he usually liked it, but somehow now everything about it was wrong. When he'd got back the previous night, exhausted, he'd tried for hours to sleep, but it had never come. It had refused to even glance his way. 

He'd spent the whole day trying to come up with something to do, something to occupy his mind. Rearranging the furniture, dusting, getting rid of cobwebs, pacing, watching telly, running through the tunnels behind his bed, reading, drinking, stuffing himself with food; nothing occupied him for more than a minute or two, nothing held his attention. Not that he'd ever had an attention span a goldfish would be jealous of.

By the time sunset rolled around he'd simply reverted to pacing. Every round he made of his lower level made it seem smaller and smaller. Frustration soon started to boil over, carrying with it anger, and Spike punched the wall of the cave with his full strength, which broke some of the rock on the wall, scraped most of the skin off his knuckles, and sent his arm recoiling. He looked at the injury, and laughed under his breath.  _That was satisfying._

The walls were still too close, and the room kept getting smaller. Spike needed to be elsewhere, and he desperately needed to hit something that could feel pain. Probably a drink, too. Several would be best. Something stiff. Whiskey? He made his way up the ladder into the upper floor, intent on his cooler. He got from it a bottle of bourbon and took a long swig. Blindly, he turned towards the door, and very nearly jumped out of his skin on the way out. 

Buffy stood just inside the doorway. She wore the same unfocused and distant look she'd had on the night before, though she seemed better rested than she'd been then. She'd tied her hair back, and washed it; he could smell the strange artificial sweet scent of her shampoo. "Buffy," he said. "Might want to be careful. Never know what might happen in a crypt like this." 

Buffy considered him for a moment. "I think I know a few things about crypts." She paused again. "You hurt your hand."

Spike looked down at the torn skin of his knuckles. "Now we match." 

"Right," Buffy said, putting her bandaged hands behind her back. The bandages were fresh. The bit must have worked on her before she came. 

Spike looked around for the cap of his bottle, then finding it put the bottle away. "That Willow. Getting pretty powerful, yeah? Bringing you back," he said. Buffy didn't respond. Maybe a he should try a different tack. "Have a seat, if you like."

Buffy looked around for a bit, then sat down gently in one the crypt's chairs, and Spike took the couch. "Your place..." she said. "It's... different." 

That much was true. Over the last five months, Spike had acquired much more furniture, especially since the bit had started spending more time here. There were several new chairs in the upstairs section, as well as a newer and larger couch, and he'd upgraded his telly, which now included stolen cable access. Nibblet had also helped him dust off the place, and remove most of the cobwebs. "It is that, yeah. You should see the downstairs, it's really quite posh." 

There was another long silence. Buffy finally broke it. "Your promise."

"I remember what I said. If I had done that, even if I didn't make it... you wouldn't have had to to jump. But I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course. But a thousand times after that. Every night, every day. If I'd been a little faster, a little more clever... so many different ways, I saved you."

"But you stayed." 

"Yeah. I stayed. I said I'd protect the bit."

"And you did. You kept her safe." 

"I did." What was she on about? He'd done his part. He'd kept his promise. He had to protect Dawn, even if Buffy didn't make it. 

"I thought... I thought you would leave. After Glory. But you didn't."

"I didn't." Truthfully, he hadn't always known why. There had a great many moments during the last few months when he'd questioned why he was doing what he did, why he was staying. Never had he seriously considered leaving, not even once. 

"Spike, I... thank you. Thank you for being there." Buffy gave a weak but warm and genuine smile, the likes Spike had rarely seen. It was not something Spike got frequently from anyone, least of all Buffy, the mortal enemy he loved. 'Thank you' caught him off guard, but the smile left him momentarily without words.

Before he could say anything, Buffy rose, and walked towards the door. On her way out she looked back at him just once, just long enough to burn the smile deep into Spike's mind.  

 

OOOOO

 

_They just want to see you be happy._

Dawn's words from that morning echoed through Buffy's mind as she made her way towards the Magic Box. All her friends just wanted to see her be happy. They wanted to see, to know, that they had done right. That they had rescued from hell, that the spell had gone as planned. They wanted so hard to see that they'd done good that they were blind. 

When she'd first returned, she'd been in a haze. Even they could see that. They might have been in denial, but they'd seen it. After she'd woken up, she'd put on a smile, and greeted them and the day, and they'd all rejoiced.  _Buffy was alive! She's saved!_

But the haze hadn't lifted. Two days after she was torn from her death, the haze that had followed Buffy into life hadn't lifted, or even gotten weaker. Everything was harsh, bright, painful, and yet all the same dulled and distant. Her walk to the Magic Box felt like trudging through the mud. Every motion she'd made since her return had, as if she'd been awake for weeks fighting constantly. Every step felt wrong. Every breath felt wrong.

Yet, nobody saw it. No one, she knew, except Spike. His eyes lacked that hunger, that demanding hope. All her friends, even her sister, thought they'd done the right thing in bringing her back, and for all the weariness of life seeing the pain in her friends was worse. Seeing the uncertainty and the desperation in their eyes was the hardest part of existence. She had to take that away, she had to reassure them, or else this new existence would be unbearable. 

The Box didn't look any different than she remembered. That was... good. Changes kept piling up everywhere she looked, and this lack of difference was reassuring. Even the little ring of the bell was the same as she remembered. Everyone was there, as she'd expected them to be, and when she walked in four eager faces turned to greet her. 

"Buffy! Hey," said Willow. Her expression fell a bit. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Look, you guys, there's this thing... So, I'm just gonna say it." Speaking had never been a great strong point for Buffy, but now finding her voice was as water in the desert. "You brought me back. I was in a ... I was in hell. I, um ... I can't think too much about what it was like. But it felt like the world abandoned me there. And then suddenly ... you guys did what you did."

Smiles broke out across the room. "We had to," Tara said. "Willow knew what what to do. She made it all happen." Willow looked bashful, but her grin widened in a classic  _aw shucks._

 _Obviously Willow,_ Buffy thought.  _She was always so eager to fix everything._  "Okay," she said to her. "So you did that. And the world came rushing back. Thank you. You guys gave me the world. I can't tell you what it means to me."  _No matter how much I wish I could._ "And, I should've said so before."

Willow ran straight up to her and hugged her so tightly breath escaped her. "You're welcome," she choked out.

Xander followed suit and wrapped his arms around them both. "Welcome home," he said in a voice full of warmth and relief. 

The hug lasted for a long moment, but eventually ended. Buffy managed to make a little small for a few minutes after it did, but found quickly enough that she had to leave. The room felt more suffocating than Willow's grip.She managed to extricate herself eventually, and headed out behind the store. 

Spike, curiously, was already there, up and about at four in the afternoon. No matter; Buffy thought she'd needed to be alone, but Spike's presence was good. He made no demands of her. "Spike? the sun's still up," she said. "You're-"

"Not on fire?" he said, cutting her off. "Sun's low enough. Shady enough her. I was gonna go inside, but I overheard you and the Super-friends exchanging a special moment and I came over a bit queasy."Say, aren't you leaving a hole in the middle of some soggy group hug?"

"I wanted to be alone," Buffy said quietly. She leaned against the back wall. 

"Oh. Uh, right then." Spike made to leave, pausing at the edge of the sunlight.

"No, stay. It's okay. I can be alone here with you." 

"Thanks ever so." Buffy chose not to hear the sarcasm in his voice. He slumped against the wall next to her, and the two of them sat there for a moment, silent, before he spoke again. "Buff? Slayer? Are you okay?" 

"I'm here. I'm good." A lie. A lie on both counts. 

"Buffy, if you're... if you're in pain... or if you need anything, or if I can do anything for you..."

"You can't." That wasn't a lie. Or maybe it was. He could listen, and understand. 

"Well, I haven't been to a hell dimension just of late, but I do know a thing or two about torment." 

"I was happy." Spike's expression fell suddenly at her words, his his rueful smile becoming confusion. "I don't know where I was, but I was happy. At peace."

Spike stared, unblinking and unbreathing. His confusion evolved into shock. 

"I was finished. I knew that I was done here, that everyone I cared about was safe, everyone was alright. I knew it. Time... it didn't mean anything. A moment? Forever? Both? Nothing had form, but I was still... me. I was warm, and I was loved, and I was finished. Completed. I don't know anything about theology, or dimension, or afterlives, but, I think I was in heaven." 

Spike said nothing, but turned away, his expression pained. 

"And now I'm not." It took a good deal of effort to keep from crying. "I was in heaven, and I was torn out. My friends... they tore me out of there. Everything here is cold, and hard, bright... violent. Everything here, everything that I touch, that I feel? This is hell. Just getting through the next moment..." 

Buffy didn't know exactly when Spike had taken her hand, but when she noticed, she gripped it tightly. It felt, well, real, and sturdy. "Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that... knowing what I've lost..." 

She let go of his hand. "The others. They can never know. Not ever," she said, walking towards the end of the alley. She was certain of that, beyond any reasonable doubt. They couldn't hear it. It would kill them. Buffy felt better that someone knew, at least, but her friends could never know. She didn't look back at him as the sunlight washed over her. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Around the living room coffee table, Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara, Dawn and Buffy had all gathered in a sort of improvised meeting. The table itself had become buried completely under a pile of bills, all addressed to one Buffy A. Summers, 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, CA. “So,” the addressee asked, “you’re telling me I’m broke?”

“Well, no,” said Anya, “but very nearly.”

Willow grimaced. “Money’s definitely becoming a problem. As in, there not being any.”

“But I haven’t spent any money,” Buffy protested, “I mean, I was all dead. And, you know, frugal.” What a brilliant day.

“I know, this may come as bit of a shock after…” Willow paused mid-sentence, looking for words. “After a bit of a shock. It took us by surprise, too.”

“Your mother prepared everything really well,” Tara said. “She had ins- life insurance. It would have left you covered for a long time. ”

“Except for the hospital bills,” Xander said, “they pretty much sucked up all the money.”

“Which you’re still hemorrhaging, by the way,” said Anya.

Wonderful. “How am I doing that?” Buffy asked.

“Not you,” Anya clarified. “The house. It costs money, just sitting around, doing nothing. Taxes, utilities...”

Dawn, who hadn’t said anything since the conversation began and the bills were presented, spoke up, her voice nearly shaking. Evidently, the others had done a good job of shielding her from their financial woes, which wasn’t easy given her both habit and talent for eavesdropping. “So, what do we do?”

“Easy. We burn the house down, and collect the insurance,” Buffy joked. “Plus, fire? Pretty.” Nobody laughed, or even smiled. “You guys. I was kidding.  Okay. It's bills, it's money. It's pieces of paper sent by bureaucrats that we've never even met. It's not like it's the end of the world.” She paused, considering that last line. “Which is too bad. I’m good at the ‘end of the world’ thingy. Look, Dawn, everyone- I’ll take care of this. I just don’t know how yet.”

“Well,” Anya began, then paused, waited a moment, then started again, “I- if you want to pay all of these, and every bill coming, and have a nice start on a college fund for Dawn, you could. You could start charging.”

“For what?” Buffy asked, knowing where this was going, where it always went with Anya.

“For slaying vampires!” There it was. “Well, you’re providing a valuable service to the community, and doing it full time. Usually, public service jobs are paid.”

Why did everyone seem to think slaying was a job? “Well, that’s... an idea. Any other suggestions?”

“It’s not _so_ crazy!” Anya protested.

“Yes it is!” Buffy shouted back. “You can’t charge innocent people for saving their lives!”

“Not the people you save. Don’t agree with you about that, the government does it with taxes, but that’s not the point. I mean, the Council.”

“What?” That seemed to take the others aback too.

“I know you don’t take orders from them anymore, but you still have a Watcher and all, and still do the work of a Slayer. They should be supporting you.”

Had Buffy been brought back to some kind of parallel universe where Anya was reasonable? “I... hadn’t considered that. That’s not a half bad idea.”

“Good going, Ahn,” said Xander, smiling proudly. “And since Giles’ll be getting back today, you can talk to him about it.”

Giles would be back soon. That thought had occupied Buffy’s mind since she got back. She missed him, and desperately needed his presence as she put her life back together. The world she’d been revived into, already strange and difficult to simply exist in, was made worse when someone so central to her life was gone. She’d been, well, not quite _this_ lost back when she’d started college and Giles had been absent. Even so, life was all directionless.

Just to add irony to it all, Giles had only left days before Willow had brought her back. Buffy suspected that not to be a coincidence, though Willow hadn't hinted at it being anything else. She'd wanted Giles to be somewhere else when she cast her spell, and had waited just for that. 

“When does he get back from the airport?” Dawn asked excitedly.

“I- I think about nine tonight,” Tara replied.

Buffy made a note of that. She’d heard about the same, but had never been good with timing or punctuality.

“The Council may drag its feet. It’s not like they’re exactly fond of you Buffy, what with your quitting and then spitting in their faces last year,” Anya said.

“Your point?” Buffy asked, annoyed.

“Well, I was thinking that you might want to get a loan,” she explained. “Given all these bills, and how the Council is all upset with you, a loan would probably be a good idea. It’s Sunday, so the banks are closed, but you should go tomorrow. Especially with a flooded basement, you’ll need money sooner rather than later.”

If Anya weren’t still making sense, Buffy could have strangled her. Loans meant interviews. They meant dealing with authority figures. For all the hellgods and angry robots and vampires and demons and ghosts and other big bads she’d faced, people with titles who were addressed as Mister or Miss and who wore glasses halfway down their noses and sat behind desks with stacks of papers and folders on them in nice quiet offices somehow always reduced her to a nervous, babbling mess.

Violence, violence she could get behind. It seemed to solve more problems than people gave it credit for. But normal people had power, and you couldn’t just hit them really hard and take their power away the way you could vampire. “I’ll consider it,” Buffy said, after giving Anya a nice glare. There weren’t exactly a great wealth of options that she could see before her, but she wouldn’t concede to needing authority figures without a struggle.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The whole gang, minus Spike, had gathered at Sunnydale’s little airport for Giles’ return. He’d been gone only a week or so, but it felt like far longer. But the events of the last week, Buffy’s resurrection in particular, had felt like more than even a usual hellmouth week. Granted, her perspective was... skewed, a bit unique, but everyone else could feel it too. Life without him was like trying to skate while blindfolded.

In all her life, Buffy had never been on a plane. She’d been to airports plenty, waiting for family and friends in LAX, but had never actually taken a plane somewhere. The farthest she’d ever been from L.A. in her life was Las Vegas, and she’d taken a greyhound there and back that summer. She’d always wondered what a plane ride would be like. Maybe, if she survived long enough to afford a vacation, she’d get to find out.

While the others chirped excitedly about her, Buffy sat in silence, distant and withdrawn, and the others mostly ignored her, thankfully. She didn’t really want to talk to any of them. She didn’t want to pretend. Maybe she should have gotten Spike to come.

That wasn’t a pleasant thought. Actually preferring Spike to her friends? She couldn’t deny to herself that she did, even if to everyone else. He’d been dead, _was_ dead, and he understood at least some of what she was going through, where Willow, Dawn, Tara, Xander, and Anya all knew nothing, saw nothing. The haze that had followed her everywhere, clouding her vision, somehow even obscuring her heart from her head, was invisible to everyone but him.  

What could she tell Giles of heaven, though? He loved her dearly, and he would have taken her death hard. With her back, what would it do to him to know that she’d been torn from heaven, ripped from her rest to live again in this hard, cold place?

Something touched her on the shoulder, and Buffy jumped straight out of her seat in response, ready to fight, but only saw Dawn. She pointed Buffy in the direction of the gates, her face eager and full of joy. 

Looking at the gate, Buffy could see why: Giles had arrived. Without a moment's hesitation Buffy ran at him flat out at her Watcher and collided with him head-on, nearly knocking him off his feet, and wrapped her arms around him tightly. 

"God, Buffy," he said, his voice quiet and breathy, oddly strained. "You're back. You're really back. And still... remarkably strong..."

"Huh? " It then occurred to Buffy that tight for her was not the same as for most people, and she released her grip on the man. "Oh. Sorry." 

"Willow told me, but... I hardly let myself believe... It's really... you're really back," he said earnestly. Tears glistened in his eyes. 

"I really am. I take some getting used to. I'm still getting used to being me." 

"It's... well, Buffy, you're... a miracle." 

"A miracle, all in the flesh and everything." 

"Yes. I suppose you are," he said, pride filling his stare, "but then, I've always thought so."

He said nothing for a while, just looking at her and smiling, and Buffy returned his smile. Eventually the others having given Watcher and Slayer their moment came to them and gave Giles the group-hug-bear-attack greeting, accompanied with much rejoicing and expressing of glad-your-backness. Once they'd each gotten a greeting in, Giles finally managed to break away, and the group began to disperse and mellow out. Work in the morning called Xander and Anya away, leaving behind Giles and the residents of the Summers house, who led Giles to the parking lot. 

"I'm told you sold your apartment when you left?" Buffy asked him on the way. 

"Yes, I did. I... I didn't think I would be coming back." He'd come back it seemed in a bit of a hurry, too. He'd brought no luggage except a pair of carry-on duffel bags. 

"Did you find a place to sleep, then? Hotel?" 

"I made arrangements. The Hotel del Sol." The Hotel del Sol was the small, cheap motel where Faith had stayed, a little old u-shaped motel that had been kept in better repair than one might expect. Far from Buffy's favourite place, but it was popular among demons, and managed to keep shadier human characters mostly out. 

"Do you want to us take you straight there?" 

"After eighteen hours of crying infants, I would be delighted to finally sleep, yes," he said. His eyes showed his weariness, and despite what he'd said, Buffy knew well that it had far more to do with her and her passing than any babies on long flights. 

Dawn, Tara, and Willow buzzed along ahead of them chatting excitedly. To them, Buffy knew, everything was alright again, and life was going back to normal. Buffy herself was alive again; Giles was back from England. If only Mom were alive, everything would be the way it was supposed to be, the way it had been. Hopefully Willow wouldn't try to bring Mom back too. Buffy couldn't witness her own fate befalling her mother, no matter how much she missed her, and knew well that she would never forgive her once-best friend for it.

When they got back into their car, Dawn, Willow, and Tara piled up in the back, and Buffy left them to their own devices across the remove of seats before she dropped them off at their house. Once they were alone, Giles looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to think the better of distracting her while driving. He knew how bad she'd always been at that, and resurrection haze hadn't made her any better. 

No accidents for Buffy tonight, though; she and Giles made it to the hotel safe and sound. Buffy helped Giles move his stuff in, what little of it there was. When she was about to leave, and let him rest, he called to her. "Buffy?" She turned to look at him, but didn't respond. His brow had become knit with concern, layered upon his deep weariness, making him look a decade older than he had just moments ago. "Umm...."

Sensing a need to keep things light lest she be overwhelmed, Buffy interrupted his attempt to talk. "I can start. How was England?"

"I- I'm not really sure how to answer that. I, well, ah, it was good. I met with the Council."

"Always a good time there." 

"Indeed so. Otherwise, really, nothing to report. I kept a flat in Bath. I met with a few old friends, and almost made a new one, which I'm given to understand is statistically impossible at my age."

"And now you're back. Like me." 

"And now I'm back. But, not like you." 

"I guess not. Not that you sound happy about it all. Are you actually miserable, or just really British?" For all her humour, Buffy could understand if he really were unhappy.  

"I can't lie to you, Buffy," he said, taking off his glasses to clean them, "leaving Sunnydale wasn't easy. It was... incredibly difficult. And coming back?"

"Even more difficult? Inconvenient, even?" 

"No, not at all. Bewildering." 

Buffy wasn't sure how to respond to that. Frankly, it was a bit too close to home for her taste. Her second, no, third, life, was bewildering, with a heavy dose of disorienting and a tasteful dash of befuddling. Perhaps with just a slight accent of perplexing. 

"Buffy, how are you?" Giles asked, after a long moment. "You look tired." 

Tired? She felt tired. Yet, how much could she tell him of what she felt? He looked so _aged_ already. She couldn't stand to see him any older, just as she couldn't stand the worry and disappointment of her friends or sister. "You know me. I'm fine. Don't worry."

Giles stared at her, unconvinced. "How are you really?"

"Well... sleeping is hard. Mostly because of the whole waking up in a coffin thing. And, the last couple days, getting up is a struggle. Or maybe it's the dreams..." Buffy said, finally dropping her act.

"On the whole, I'd say you're doing extraordinarily well under the most trying circumstances." 

In most ways, she really was. Despite the effort of getting up in the morning, going through the motions of making Dawn's lunches, cleaning the house, and so forth was, well, going through the motions. It was all happening behind her haze, her numbness, but it wasn't so hard to just do it now as it had been at first. And she'd been back only a week. Time would help, she knew it would. One day she would possibly start to actually feel anything. Perhaps she could even get excited about something soon. You never know. 

"Do you plan to resume your duties soon? As Slayer?" 

That was a subject Buffy had been avoiding wherever possible. Already a week had gone by in Sunnydale since her resurrection, and nothing extraordinary had happened. Something would, sooner or later, as always. Frankly, she'd been waiting til Giles was back to really think over when she would start patrolling again. She'd need to train back up to her old standard first. "Soon, I think." 

"That's good. It may help to get your life back to norm- well, back to usual." 

"Yeah, good. Back to usual. Um, maybe you should get some sleep. Long journey and all."

Giles sighed deeply as exhaustion, now reminded of its job, caught up with him. "Yes, yes I suppose I should." 

Buffy left him to his rest, and went home to another night of less-than-pleasant sleep. 

 

\-----

 

Punching bags, under the influence of Slayer strength and without proper stabilisation, could easily go flying. Buffy had learned last year that she could get the bag almost sideways if she hit it just right. She wasn't hitting it just right, though. There was no technique, no finesse in her strikes; she had no desire to do anything fancy, no will to to try anything special. All she wanted to do was hit the thing as many times as she could as hard as she could. Her hands had healed fully from the grave-escape after her second or third day among the living, but now they were as sore as they'd been that first night, while not actually injured. It was comforting, to be able to hit something, especially as she was about to go into battle at a bank. That appointment was only a few hours away, and with every passing moment Buffy's anxiety spiked a little bit further. 

Buffy lost herself in her strikes. Hit, hit, hit, hit, hit, smack, smack, smack, smack, thump, thump, thump, thump. It was therapeutic, meditative. Quite suddenly, the chain snapped with a loud metallic clanging, and the bag flopped limply to the ground where it promptly split, spilling its sand all over the floor. Buffy was snapped out of her trance, which left her feeling hollow and numb again. There was no escaping it, was there, that haze, that numbness? Was there something wrong with her that made it so she couldn't feel anything? 

Giles stood in the doorway, revealed by the falling of the punching bag. Buffy looked sheepish. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long," he said, walking into the room. "You asked to see me?" 

"Oh. Yeah." Buffy sidestepped the spilt sand and made her way to the benches on the edge of the Magic Box's back room. Giles followed, and sat down with her. "Well, you see, my basement flooded yesterday, and apparently a new set of pipes costs more than I thought it would. You know, a lot. And then it turns out that my mom left me a bunch of money for this kind of thing, but that mostly got squandered on luxuries like electricity, and water."

"How bad is it?" 

"Anya tells me it's pretty bad, and I'm kinda taking her word for it. Really, I'm trying not to think about it at all,"Buffy said, "but I can't not. I have to go to the bank soon, today, and see if I can get a loan. That'll buy me time, if I get one." 

"I can understand how this all might be... distressing. Life can be rather unfairly overwhelming, even for someone who hasn't been through..." Giles hung up on the last word, unwilling as most to say 'dead' out loud. "Well, what you've been through."

"I guess. But that's not really what I asked you to come for, talking about life and all it's unfairness."

"I didn't think so," said Giles, with that knowing smile of his.

"So, you remember when the Council gave you your position back? And started paying you again?" 

"I do, as it happens."

"Anya pointed out that I'm still the Slayer, even if I don't take orders from the Council anymore. She thinks that because I'm still doing the job, I should be getting paid. She says that they should be paying me."

Giles' eyebrows were raised so high they looked like they might peel straight off his face. "I doubt the Council will see things that way," he said. 

"Of course they won't. But it's worth a shot." 

"Maybe so. I suppose you want me to talk to them?" 

"That was the idea. Not exactly winning any Council's Favourite Slayer awards recently. Or ever."

"For what it's worth, I'll talk to them. I can't make any promises, though. To my knowledge, not many Slayers have lived to adulthood, and most haven't had such complex lives as you do. The Council may also use this to leverage you back into their grip, you understand that?" 

"I do. I kinda thought they would. It's like them."

"That it is, unfortunately."

"Thank you, Giles." 

 

 


End file.
